The Turtle Run

by Marie Evelyn

  She must have looked angry because he actually raised his hands as if to repel an attack. ‘Yes, you can, please. Someone told me that there was a washroom down here.’

  ‘You’ve come too far. You need to go – I’ll show you.’ She led the way back towards the hall and pointed out the door of the downstairs bathroom.

  He frowned. ‘Sorry, I don’t know you. Can I ask what you were doing back there?’

  ‘I live here. But if you want a character reference we could go and find Matthew.’

  The man’s face blanched. ‘Matthew. Has he arrived?’

  Becky wondered how long the man had been ‘looking for the washroom’.

  She saw him go into the downstairs toilet and headed back down the corridor to check that Cook’s door really was shut but, as she walked past the office, she thought she heard a sound inside. She knocked on the door.

  Matthew opened it, gestured for her to come in and closed it immediately behind her. ‘Whose idea was this?’ he snapped.

  Becky sighed. ‘It wasn’t your mother’s. I think she got a bit swept along.’

  ‘And Alex?’

  ‘He tried to warn you but he didn’t officially find out about the party until you were already on the flight.’

  ‘How could he have not known what was going on?’

  Becky didn’t know what to say to that. Matthew stared at her impatiently. ‘And he left the office open and the computer on.’

  ‘Surely not.’ Becky couldn’t imagine even Alex being that forgetful.

  ‘As good as. He simply locked the outer door without setting the keypads. Any idiot with a skeleton key could have broken in.’

  ‘I think he was rather coerced into joining the party.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, he’s a grown man. He could have locked up properly first.’

  Becky’s temper flared on behalf of poor Alex. She was tempted to explain how Francesca had taken over but it felt a bit like telling tales. ‘If you knew what the situation was like here, you’d have more sympathy for him.’

  Matthew looked about to answer this but said instead, ‘You’re really telling me that half the island was invited here tonight, people who would barely recognise me in the street, and the most expensive caterers called in and Alex–’

  ‘Ah, I’ve got it now,’ said Becky. ‘This is about freeloaders, isn’t it?’

  ‘Freeloaders?’

  ‘Why can’t you just be happy that so many friends turned up to celebrate your birthday?’

  ‘Friends? I’ve seen at least two people here tonight who would happily search this office for information on my business. What a dream. To be invited to my house and find the office virtually open, the computer on and God knows what paperwork left lying around.’

  Becky inwardly groaned at Alex’s carelessness. Then again he had probably worked a 12-hour day and wasted valuable time searching for his car keys and trying to reach his fierce boss. Alex had looked almost as tired as Matthew looked now.

  ‘I’d better get back to your party,’ she said and walked away before Matthew could respond with something sarcastic.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Becky wanted to make sure Clara was all right and looked first in the dining room. She had to concede Francesca had chosen her caterers well: the dining table was covered with attractive platters of prawns, cold lobster, king fish, and smoked salmon with olive eyes and cucumber smiles, all swimming among dishes of luxuriant green salads.

  People were now attacking the buffet and taking their spoils to the lounge or out to the veranda; the lucky ones finding a seat, the unlucky ones on their feet trying to balance drinks and plates of food. As Becky approached one small group, she heard ‘… and then she said “being a lord is like being a lady, if you have to say you are, you ain’t”‘. Everyone in the group laughed. Becky sensed a collective turning of heads as she walked past, but suspected this was owing to the magic black dress, rather than any recognition she was the originator of that anecdote.

  She found Clara in the lounge and was pleased to see the older lady had a seat but there was no room for Becky to join her. Anyway Clara looked brighter and was chatting happily to Margaret Turner. Becky went on to the morning room where Francesca was holding court with a small cluster of giggling ladies. One of them reached out to stroke the blue material of Francesca’s dress.

  ‘It’s gorgeous! How did you afford it?’

  ‘Alimony, darling!’

  The other women’s voices did not carry as clearly but Becky heard one of the coterie mention Florida.

  ‘Just left him there,’ tinkled Francesca. ‘Anyway, silly man. He hired old Belly Baron as his lawyer. He obviously forgot that Belly was a great friend of mine from years ago.’

  Becky carried on walking, looking for a friendly face, but the few people she knew were all busy. Robin Turner was talking with a mixed group and Alex was swigging back a beer while listening to a man who was talking intensely. She could have joined in many conversations – small groups of men looked up admiringly as she passed – but she kept going until she reached the veranda. There was no Maureen to talk to – she must have left earlier – and the drinks table appeared to have descended into a chaotic free-for-all.

  Becky ignored the small chatting groups and leant over the balustrade, drinking in the sounds of the lonely whistling frogs. She was wondering if she could slip away unnoticed to her room when a pair of arms seized her from behind.

  ‘Where the devil have you been all evening?’ Richard Carrington demanded, rubbing a bristly cheek against hers. ‘The only reason I accepted this invitation was to see you. Matthew will probably poison my drink if he knows I’m here.’

  He released her and his roguish blue eyes roamed over her appreciatively. ‘You look wonderful,’ he drawled. ‘That dress looks amazing. Or at least it looks amazing on you.’

  ‘Thank you, Richard. And nice to see you made a bit of an effort too.’

  He grinned and gave a mock twirl. His sandy hair was tousled as usual but he was dressed in pressed trousers and shirt and smelt like he’d just walked out of a shower. His only other concession to dressing up was a gold earring.

  ‘Have you eaten?’ he said. ‘There’s so much sea life next door Francesca must have sent out a private fishing fleet to hoover up the Atlantic.’

  Becky laughed. ‘Actually, now you mention it, no I haven’t.’

  ‘Come on, let’s enjoy Matthew’s hospitality.’

  Becky followed him into the dining room where he managed to find them a couple of seats and insisted she sat down while he loaded the plates. She could see he would be gone some time: the food was so good people were coming for seconds and thirds and haphazard queues had built up near certain dishes.

  At least it meant he wasn’t in view when Matthew walked into the dining room moments later after what must have been a lightning shower. His hair was still wet but he had changed into fresh clothes and had a beer in his hand. As he moved through the room small groups of people stopped him for a chat and occasionally someone seemed to know him well enough to clap him on the shoulder. Nothing could disguise the weary lines on his face but he seemed to have recovered his social humour.

  He was standing only a few feet away but he had his back to Becky and hadn’t yet noticed her. She felt like a spy observing his interactions with people. She assumed it was Francesca’s friends who blew up to him speaking in hurried sentences.

  ‘Gorgeous buffet, Matthew.’

  ‘Happy birthday.’

  ‘Super party.’

  And then a couple of women from Francesca’s coterie rushed up to him in tandem.

  ‘Francesca tells me you’ve been in London,’ said one.

  ‘I suppose you’ve got your Christmas shopping in early?’ asked the other.

  Matthew laughed, seemingly unsure how to answer. He looked round, caught Becky smiling at the ridiculousness of the question and gave her a rueful grin before answering the female duo.

&nb
sp; ‘That’s right. Though I did manage to squeeze in some business between shopping trips.’

  He turned back to Becky and looked like he was about to join her – since there was a vacant chair beside her – when Francesca cantered over, telling off the duo.

  ‘Don’t be silly, you two. Poor Matthew has been on a business trip. Clara has just told me he’s only had four hours’ sleep in the last three days.’

  ‘Oh, you should try lettuce leaves. Brilliant for insomnia,’ said one of the pair, clearly not getting it. Matthew saw Becky laughing at this latest conversational gem but before he could respond his arm was taken by Francesca, who spun him towards the veranda.

  ‘It’s not that he can’t sleep,’ she told the duo, sternly. ‘It’s that he hasn’t had time to sleep. Now, poor Matthew, let’s see if we can find you somewhere to sit down while you wait for all these horrible people to go.’

  Francesca propelled Matthew towards the veranda so that the duo were left like disoriented bees bereft of their queen. Becky felt quite sorry for them.

  She was quite hungry now and was pleased to see Richard coming back with their plates, tastefully decorated with a selection of each dish. Evidently he knew his food for after a few bites he could names the spices that had been used and the cooking method. He looked hurt that this surprised Becky.

  ‘I do run hotels as well, you know. My family have several in the islands. I oversee the restaurants. And I’m a fantastic cook.’

  He was also a fantastic source of gossip, telling her gentle anecdotes about some of Barbados’s more eccentric residents as they ate. They were joined by a few stray women whose husbands were talking with other husbands. Richard chatted easily to all, making them laugh, though his eyes always returned to Becky. After a while the husbands noticed their wives were chatting to Richard Carrington and came to claim them. Only one lady remained with Becky and Richard.

  ‘It’s your reputation, Richard,’ she laughed. ‘Shame it doesn’t work on my husband. I can see that Frank’s boring some poor blighter with his plans for the land near Shermans. He’s convinced that Barbados needs yet another golf course.’

  They looked where she was pointing and Becky recognised the man who had been ‘searching for the washroom’ earlier. He was sketching plans on a napkin and talking animatedly to another man, who was nodding at regular intervals but scanning the room for an escape route whenever Frank lowered his eyes to add more marks to the napkin. Frank and Richard, thought Becky: they must have been who Matthew meant when he said there were two rivals at the party. At the time she had thought he was being paranoid.

  ‘Has he got his bid in yet?’ asked Richard.

  ‘Yes, he got it in weeks ago.’ Frank’s wife’s hand flew to her mouth. ‘You’re the last person I should be telling. Don’t you dare ask me how much he bid.’

  ‘Wouldn’t dream of it,’ said Richard. ‘How much did he bid?’

  ‘Oh, you’re naughty. Ouch.’ She gave a squeak and rubbed her tummy. ‘See, even my baby kicks me when he thinks I’m going to be indiscreet.’ She leant towards Becky. ‘I’m seven months pregnant.’

  ‘Congratulations,’ said Becky, aware now of a bump under the lady’s loose-fitting dress. ‘And you know it’s a he?’

  ‘Must be. Every time someone mentions the words “golf course” or “sealed bid” he gets restless. Ouch, there he goes again. Now who knows where the nearest washroom is? That little game of football has just made me realise I’m desperate.’ She grinned.

  Becky was about to direct her to the downstairs bathroom when Richard cut in. ‘Just go across the hall and take a left towards the kitchen. There’s a little room on your left that looks like a cupboard.’

  ‘Thanks, Richard. Yes, I forgot you would know.’ The woman cast a despairing look at Frank – now on his second napkin – and walked off slowly.

  Becky frowned. ‘What did she mean, “I forgot you would know”?’

  Richard chuckled. ‘I used to live here. In fact which room have they put you in? The one straight over our heads now? With the view over the yard?’

  Becky thought. ‘Yes, in the middle.’

  ‘That was my old bedroom.’ Richard grinned. ‘What a delicious thought. We’ve been sleeping in the same space – maybe even in the same bed – but separated by time. Hmmm.’ He gave a dreamy smile and made his eyebrows dance.

  ‘But why were you staying with Matthew’s family?’

  ‘I was staying with my family. It was our house.’

  Becky’s mind swam with confusion while Richard looked amused and in no hurry to help her out. ‘How could it have been your house? Matthew’s family have been here for generations.’

  ‘I suppose they’ve worked here for generations. Yes, come to think of it, Matthew’s grandfather was here, though I only remember his father to be honest.’

  ‘Matthew’s grandfather planted the trees down the drive.’

  ‘He probably did. He was the gardener. Then, when he died, Matthew’s father took over. And old Cookie was our cook. Well, one of our cooks.’

  ‘If it was your family’s house why aren’t you still here?’

  ‘I grew up; my brothers grew up. We all wanted our own houses. My parents wanted to relocate to America. I think they were delighted when Matthew made them an offer.’

  ‘But it’s lovely. How could you bear to leave it?’

  Richard grinned. ‘Who wants an old house with no air con? I always wanted to design my own place. And I did. You should come and see it. In fact, I seem to remember, Miss Thomson,’ he said, assuming a ponderous voice, ‘that you once promised to have dinner with me.’

  ‘You’ve got a terrible memory, Richard. I didn’t.’

  ‘Well, maybe you didn’t actually promise,’ he allowed, ‘but how about I take you out tomorrow at seven-thirty?’

  Becky had no idea whether to accept or not. It would be lovely to get out of the house and spend some time with an uncomplicated and good-natured man. But this was clearly a date and she wasn’t sure she fancied Richard.

  ‘Hello?’ he said, comically.

  ‘Oh, sorry. I was –’

  ‘Worrying what the gardener’s boy would think?’

  ‘Evening, Richard. I do hope you’re not bothering Becky.’

  They looked up to see Matthew standing over them. Becky cringed inwardly. Had he heard what Richard had just said?

  Richard seemed unfazed, greeting Matthew with a lazy smile. ‘And a happy birthday to you, Matthew. Though you look like you’re working too hard, old boy. It’s a lovely party by the way.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Matthew. ‘And apparently I have Becky to thank for it.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Your idea, I’m told.’

  ‘Clever girl,’ drawled Richard. ‘It’s a great party.’

  A familiar tinkle of laughter carried from the veranda to the dining room, followed by Francesca saying something that reduced people to helpless laughter.

  Matthew seemed to be waiting for confirmation. Becky was suddenly weary of his oblique accusations – this time that she was to blame for his unwanted party.

  ‘I suppose it must have been my idea, then,’ she said, ‘if that’s what you’ve been told.’ She turned to Richard. ‘Seven-thirty would be lovely.’

  ‘That’s great. I’ll pick you up then.’

  Matthew looked like he wanted to say something but he turned round and walked off.

  Richard grinned at his departing back. ‘He’s furious,’ he chuckled. ‘I think maybe I’ll take my leave before he does poison my drink. And before this drunken lot all try and drive their cars out of the yard at the same time. Expect to see a lot of people swapping insurance details later.’

  Becky laughed. ‘I think I’ll call it a night, too.’

  ‘See you tomorrow, gorgeous.’ He gave her hand a squeeze and left.

  So she had a date. Something pleasant to look forward to even if it didn’t set her heart racing.

  The par
ty showed no sign of winding down so Becky decided to let Clara know she was going to her room and check whether the older lady wanted to go up too. As soon as she walked into the lounge she realised that, in the midst of all the jollity, Clara – sitting by herself on a sofa – was in real distress.

  Becky rushed over to her. ‘Clara, what’s the matter; are you all right?’ The level of noise had risen to such a pitch she had to bend over, her curtain of hair brushing Clara’s cheek, to repeat the question.

  ‘No dear, I am not all right. I’m just summoning the energy to go up to my room.’

  Becky took Clara’s arm and helped her to the stairs, wondering if she should run to the veranda and summon Matthew to help. She could see him framed in the main doorway, listening quietly to an anecdote of Francesca’s. Then Francesca’s arm encircled his waist so that they stood together, an item.

  Francesca wasn’t about to let Becky take him away now.

  She began to help Clara up the stairs, unable to decide if the wave of negativity she felt was due to envy or annoyance that Francesca’s elaborate and duplicitous plan had worked. She realised her strongest emotion was disappointment in Matthew. How had a man with such an incisive mind been fooled by someone as shallow as Francesca?

  Halfway up Clara had to pause, her hand on the banisters. ‘Stupid of me,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I should have stuck to my original plan to come upstairs earlier.’

  Francesca’s laugh was so excessive it seemed to be following them up the stairs.

  ‘And will you just listen to Francesca’s voice.’ Clara sounded edgy and petulant, perhaps because she was overtired.

  ‘Matthew seems fond of her,’ Becky murmured at which Clara grunted and continued her ascent.

  Once in her room Clara sank on the edge of her bed while Becky found her dressing gown and nightdress.

  ‘To be honest, Becky, I blame myself. I think back to when Francesca took us out for lunch. At the time I thought she was just being sociable but now I wonder if the whole point of the trip was to engineer this party.’

  ‘She obviously likes Matthew.’

  ‘Oh I do hope he doesn’t fall for her again. It completely wrecked him the last time. Would you open that window more for me, Becky? It’s stifling in here.’